Unforgivable
by KelseyO
Summary: My version of what happened during Bellatrix and Hermione's girl to girl conversation.  Sticks mostly to the movie, with a few tweaks here and there.
1. Chapter 1

**Before you guys start reading, I want to give a huge shoutout to MysteriousFlower and her story _Masquerade_ (.net/s/6493745/1/bMasquerade_b). Her fic is awesome and it helped me remember a lot of the little details from the Manor scene. Go read hers after!**

Hermione Granger had helped Harry get to the Sorcerer's stone, assisted in the escape of Sirius Black, survived several trips to the Forbidden Forest, and broken into the Department of Mysteries. She had faced down dementors, Death Eaters, and even Voldemort himself. But now, held captive in Malfoy Manor with her back against a wall and Bellatrix Lestrange approaching her with a wicked gleam in her eye, she had never been more scared in her life.

"Cissy, put the boys in the cellar," she instructed, gesturing to Harry and Ron with a lazy flip of her wrist. The witch came to a stop mere inches from Hermione, leaning in close, a dark smirk forming on Bellatrix's face. "I am going to have a conversation with this one…_girl_ to _girl_!"

Hermione determinedly avoided her eyes and instead concentrated keeping her breathing steady. She flinched when a cold hand touched her cheek; it moved gently down her jaw and paused at her chin, then Bellatrix used three fingers to tilt her head up.

"Look at me," she whispered, but Hermione still averted her gaze. "I said, _look at me_!" she shrieked, now gripping the girl's face roughly.

Hermione had closed her eyes tight at the witch's sudden outburst but she willed herself to open them, and then finally looked directly into the woman's blazing pupils.

Bellatrix's grasp loosened just a little and she smiled sweetly, making Hermione shiver. "Now, my sweet, sweet girl…How did you get into my safe at Gringotts?"

She blinked a few times, the question taking her off-guard. "I—I didn't," she said. She barely finished her sentence before Bellatrix let go of her jaw and slapped her hard across the cheek. She gasped in pain at the sudden blow and it knocked her off-balance; she fell to her knees, holding a hand to her stinging face.

"Don't lie to me, Mudblood."

Hermione kept her eyes on the hardwood floor. "I'm not lying," she replied, trying to make her voice sound as strong as possible.

"I disagree."

Suddenly Bellatrix grabbed her by her upper arm and yanked, forcing Hermione onto her back with a grunt from the young witch. Before she had a chance to move from her spread-eagle position Bellatrix climbed on top of her, leaving her waist and torso completely immobile. She began to struggle against the witch's weight, knowing her efforts were useless, but sheer panic was setting in. Her eyes started to burn.

"That sword is meant to be in my vault at Gringotts." Bellatrix leaned in close enough so Hermione could smell her vile breath. "How did you get it?"

A sob escaped her throat involuntarily, and once it came out, several more followed.

"What else did you and your friends take from my _vault_?" Bellatrix spat, practically screaming by the end of her question.

"I didn't take anything," she sobbed, then took a ragged breath. "Please, I didn't take anything!"

Bellatrix once again dismissed her answers. "I don't believe it," she stated simply. She shifted to hover over Hermione's arm, and the instant Hermione began to wonder what Bellatrix was doing, she felt a razor sharp blade slice into her flesh.

A scream exploded from her throat and Bellatrix's free hand shot out. She turned Hermione's head to face the other direction and her frigid palm pressed the girl's cheek against the cold, hard floor.

The cuts continued. Hermione screamed again and blindly tried to grab the knife, Bellatrix's arm, anything to make the pain stop, but then a third unfamiliar hand gripped her wrist and held it down. She looked around and through her tears saw Narcissa Malfoy kneeling beside her, her eyes glowing with a reserved delight as she restrained her.

Bellatrix began carving harder and slower into her skin; Hermione didn't recognize the piercing cries that shot from her mouth as her entire body trembled, tears spilling rapidly from her eyes. A chill went down her spine when the witch cackled.

"There, all finished," she announced. She let go of Hermione's head and waited for her to move. When she didn't, the woman gently brushed her fingers along her cheek. "Aw, all these tears…" she observed and wiped a few of them away. "How are we doing, dear?"

Hermione simply whimpered at Bellatrix's manic tone.

The witch cocked her head. "The silent type, are we?" Both women rose and turned their backs to the girl. "That's a shame," she continued as her fellow Death Eater handed her something, "You have such a beautiful voice…"

Hermione sensed that something horrible was coming and tried to crawl away, turning onto her side and using her uninjured arm to pull herself slowly along the floor. Without warning a hex hit her and flipped her onto her back and left her rooted to the floor.

Bellatrix turned to face her and her expression made Hermione's eyes widen in fear.

"How did you get into my vault?" she asked once more, pausing between each word, her voice soft.

Hermione shook her head as tears streamed down her face. "I didn't…I swear, I didn't take anything…"

There was a single, terrifying beat of silence. She barely registered hearing "_Crucio_!" from across the room, but then every inch of her body was on fire and nothing mattered anymore.

She screamed louder than she ever had before. Her limbs trembled and thrashed, her fingernails raked against the floor until they bled, and she squeezed her eyes shut as tightly as she was physically capable, but none of it made a difference. She had never felt such an impossible amount of agony; it seeped through her skin, her muscles, all the way to her bones. This wasn't pain. This was something else entirely.

Then, abruptly, it stopped.

Hermione lay on the floor, gasping and panting, her body completely still. There was a light layer of sweat covering her skin and her heart was nearly beating out of her chest.

And then she realized Bellatrix was laughing.

"I always knew this one would be fun to play with," she told her sister.

Hermione listened to their voices and more tears trickled to the floor. She wondered where Harry and Ron were right now: what they were doing, if they were alright, if they were planning a way to get out of here.

She heard a vague hiss from Bellatrix and her world burst into white hot flame again. Though her body remembered the curse, there was no getting used to its effects—it was as if each of her cells had been replaced with fire-hot oil, as if her very bones were splintering into little tiny pieces. She couldn't be sure if she was even screaming anymore; she couldn't hear, she couldn't see, she couldn't form a coherent thought. All was lost in the utter agony boiling under her flesh.

When Bellatrix finally lifted the curse, Hermione didn't move a single muscle. Her eyes remained open and unblinking, her breathing shallow and weak. She heard Bellatrix and Narcissa talking to the Goblin but couldn't understand what anyone was saying. Every sound seemed muffled—or maybe she just didn't have the strength to listen.

Perhaps to feel less vulnerable, or perhaps just to be certain she was still conscious, Hermione slowly tried to curl into a ball on the floor. She managed to get about halfway there before she found herself utterly drained of energy. In this new position, however, she was now staring directly at the marks that Bellatrix had left on her skin. Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes scanned the eight-letter word, each character a bright, angry red, a few even still bleeding. For the briefest moment, a single tear and drop of blood fell in unison.

Then, from across the room, came a series of muffled explosions. Shouts filled the room and spells and hexes flew through the air; she recognized Harry and Ron's voices, though they sounded cloudy and far away.

Without warning she was hoisted up from behind, and strong pair of hands lifting her by her under-arms. She wondered briefly if it was Ron or Harry, but the actions were too rough and soon she could smell Bellatrix's vile, rotten breath. One of the witch's arms curled around Hermione's stomach while the other hand clutched at her scalp and tilted her head back.

Hermione stopped breathing when she felt a cold blade against her throat.

"Drop you wands!" Bellatrix shouted and the room fell completely silent. "I said, drop them!" Hermione heard her friends' wands clatter to the floor as they did what they were told. "Well, well, well, look what we have here," Bellatrix hissed, moving forward slowly, "Mr. Harry Potter is all bright and shiny and new again…just in time for the Dark Lord."

Hermione did her best to shuffle forward with the witch; her eyes were heavy and she could barely keep herself standing.

_There's a knife at your throat. _

_There's a knife at your throat. _

_There's a knife at your throat._

She reminded herself over and over again in an effort to not move her head or neck, wincing as Bellatrix pressed the blade even harder against her throat and broke through the flesh.

"Call him," Bellatrix instructed to somebody. There was a pause. "Call him!"

Hermione heard a rustling of clothing as somebody pulled up their sleeves, but then she heard a second sound. It was a faint squeaking, barely noticeable, and it was coming from directly above her. Her eyes searched the ceiling. Though her vision was blurry from her tears, she could make out Dobby hanging from the chandelier, quickly unscrewing a bolt from the top of the elaborate light fixture.

For a moment nobody moved; everyone in the room stood transfixed as they watched the elf work. Then, with a loud clang, the chandelier broke free of the ceiling and came hurtling down toward Hermione and Bellatrix.

The witch dropped the girl and ran for cover with her fellow Death Eaters; Hermione managed to stumble forward until she found Ron's waiting arms, and she fell heavily against his chest.

The rest all happened in a blur. Words were exchanged and soon they were disapparating from the Manor with Bellatrix's knife flying toward them. The musty scent of the Manor was replaced with a cool, salty breeze and the gentle sound of waves lapping on a beach reached Hermione's ears.

She clung to Ron, whose arms were fastened securely around her waist, supporting most of her body weight. It was a struggle to keep her eyes open, even to keep her head up, but she forced herself to stay upright. She heard Harry cry out to Dobby, heard the elf's voice weaken. She heard Harry calling her name, begging her for something that would heal Dobby's wound, but Hermione just shook her head.

Tears slid down her cheeks; her arm burned where Bellatrix's knife had left its marks. She looked down and stared at the spot where her sleeves were covering the angry red gashes, almost mesmerized by the knowledge of what lay beneath the fabric.

Ron noticed her fixation and followed her eyes, then swallowed.

"Hermione, what did she do to you?" he asked softly, slowly, with a mixture of concern and dread.

Almost instantaneously, her arm began to tremble. Ron set her gently into a kneeling position in the sand and he crouched in front of her. He lightly grasped her wrist and peered into her eyes, searching for any sign that he should stop. With as much caution as he was capable of, he began to pull her sleeve back, and when the first jagged letter came into view, Hermione closed her eyes while Ron's widened.

"Her…Hermione…" Ron whispered, continuing to reveal the word carved into her skin. Without thinking he reached out to touch her scarred flesh; she immediately flinched away before his fingers could get within an inch of her arm.

Her eyebrows pulled together as she tried to keep herself from breaking, but Ron's eyes were blazing and she could still feel the Cruciatus Curse buzzing through her body and she could still hear Bellatrix's voice in her ear. And then Ron's arms were around her and he was pulling her tight against him, and she began to soak his jacket with her tears.

"I'll never let her touch you again," he breathed, and somehow, she believed him.

**For the record, I had absolutely no clue how I wanted to end this. I understand if you think the ending is kind of lame, because I do too. I'm completely open to any suggestions or ideas anyone has for a better ending, so please feel free to PM me or write up a review if you come up with something cool.**

**Also, this is my first Harry Potter fic, if anyone was wondering. I've been obsessing over that Malfoy Manor scene ever since I saw the movie. Anyone else?**


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione was reading. She had been for hours while Harry and Ron slept silently in their respective beds, both exhausted from their ordeal at the Malfoy Manor. She was tired as well—perhaps more tired than she'd ever been—but she wouldn't let herself succumb to the fatigue. She knew that nothing good could come of relaxing, of letting her mind wander free of the tight restraints she had carefully wrapped around it, and so she forced her eyes to continue scanning page after page.

There was a thin sheen of sweat on her face; she told herself it was because of the heat from the nearby fire, though she knew that was just wishful thinking. The cuts on her arm had been burning raw and red since the moment Bellatrix had carved them into her skin. Hermione longed to push those thoughts from her mind and focus on finding more information, but the perpetual fire slowly smoldering on her flesh would not let her distract herself completely. She imagined this was what Harry must feel like when his scar acted up, and the realization that she could now relate to him on that level sent chills up her spine and moisture to her eyes.

She sniffed and wiped away the tears, taking a deep breath to try and calm down. Suddenly she felt a hand on her back and she jumped, a tight gasp escaping from her mouth. She looked up to see Ron peering down at her, a look of soft concern in his eyes.

"Hermione? Are you—?"

"I'm fine, Ron," she interrupted, staring determinedly at the book in front of her. "You just startled me, that's all."

He took a seat at the table, his gaze moving between her face and her arm. Neither of them said a word and the only noise was the sound of flipping pages.

Soon her arm began to prickle with heat, almost as if it knew it had an audience. Her fingers twitched and she involuntarily squeezed them into a fist, her jaw muscles working as she tried to ignore the pain.

"Your arm," Ron said, his eyes glued to the spot where he knew her scars were, "It hurts, doesn't it?"

Hermione blinked to keep the tears away. "It's fine. It's nothing." She had to be strong for him, for both of them.

Ron swallowed. "Show me."

She stopped pretending to read, her entire body freezing. "Ron, I—"

"Show me," he repeated, interrupting her this time.

His tone wasn't demanding by any means—it was actually quite soft and she could tell he was saying this because he cared about her—but she found herself terrified to obey his request. What if the cuts looked worse now than they had when he first saw them? She didn't want to see. She didn't want to know.

Ron reached out and gently brushed his thumb over her fisted knuckles. She slowly uncurled her fingers and turned her arm so her wrist was facing up. Her eyes met his and he nodded.

She gripped the edge of her sleeve and pulled. The first few inches of her arm were unmarked, as if to make her think there was nothing there at all, to tease her. But then the _d_ appeared, proving that they had gone to Malfoy Manor, that Bellatrix had singled her out, had pinned her to the floor and carved into her skin like two lovers marking a tree, had shown her firsthand the true power of the Cruciatus Curse.

A single tear fell down her cheek as she revealed the rest of the word. The letters were still red and raw, gleaming as if they were fresh wounds. A small sob escaped her throat. Shouldn't the cuts have stopped bleeding by now?

"We'll fix it, Hermione," Ron said, and he reached for her bag. He dug around until he found the Essence of Dittany, the very same bottle Hermione had used on his shoulder. Hermione watched as he drew some of the liquid into the eyedropper and positioned it a few inches above her arm. He eyed her cautiously, waiting for approval, and she nodded.

When the first drop hit her skin, she almost screamed.

The spot where the serum had made contact with her flesh was now burning, sizzling, as if it were hot oil instead of a healing potion. Ron watched in horror as she pulled her arm away and held it against her stomach, cradling it tightly while tears streamed from her eyes. She moaned through gritted teeth in an effort to not cry out in pain.

"What's happening?" he asked frantically, his voice cracking as he shot out of his chair and knelt beside her.

The wheels turned in her mind; she thought about Bellatrix, about the knife, about the searing pain that had spread through her flesh with each slice. And then she understood.

"It was bewitched," she breathed, staring blankly at the bare tabletop. She could feel Ron's questioning stare. "The knife, the one that she used to…" She paused, her eyes shining in the candlelight. "It was bewitched." She looked at him. "The wounds it inflicts can't be healed with magic. They have to heal naturally. And even then, it probably..." She took a deep, shaky breath. "It will probably take ages to go away completely. In fact…I don't think it ever will."

At this realization her eyes fell to her arm and her bottom lip began to tremble. Her eyebrows pulled together as her face crumpled into an expression that Ron rarely saw Hermione wear, one that put a lump in his throat.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up." He took her hands into his and gently pulled her up off her chair, then led her across the room to one of the beds. He sat her on the edge of the mattress and knelt in front of her. Slowly he reached up and began to unzip her sweater, his movements cautious as he tried to gauge her reactions, to be certain he wasn't making her uncomfortable. He lifted the sweater off her shoulders and pulled at her sleeves. A few blotches of bright crimson among the wool threads caught his eye but he didn't pause to study them.

His heart skipped a beat when he saw she was wearing another long-sleeved shirt underneath, one with an identical red stain midway up the left sleeve. He had intended to take off all her bloody clothes, but underneath this top it was just…Hermione.

Hermione saw him looking at it and waited until he met her eyes again. "It's okay," she said quietly, and Ron's ears had to strain to hear the two words. He grasped the bottom hem of the shirt between each of his thumbs and forefingers and pulled it up, his breath catching in his throat when her arms lifted automatically to help him get it off.

Soon the shirt was lying on the floor next to the sweater, and for the longest moment Ron couldn't figure out where to put his eyes. They darted all over her body; to her slim waist, to her breasts that were covered only by a white lace bra, to her bare shoulders that were shivering from the cold—or maybe just because there was nothing to block the cuts in her arm from view. Her carefully avoiding looking in that direction told Ron it was probably the latter reason.

He snapped out of it and fetched a t-shirt that she had worn last week from her bag. The soft, pale pink cotton had a few patches of dirt on it, but Hermione didn't object and he helped her put it on without it touching the scars.

Ron returned to her bag and this time pulled out the muggle first-aid kit Hermione had brought along—somehow, she always knew what they would need. He opened the plastic bin and removed some gauze, disinfectant, and ACE bandages, setting them each on the bed one by one.

"I only know as much as Mum taught me about this kind of stuff," he said softly as he dampened the gauze with disinfectant, "But I'll see what I can do." He took her hand and held it in his, turning her arm so the inside of her wrist was facing up. Ron pressed the gauze to her cuts, lightly at first; the mixed sensations of cold liquid against her warm skin and the sharp stinging as the disinfectant hit her open wounds made her flinch. He continued, dabbing at each jagged letter one by one, wiping away the blood as gently as he could.

When he was done he spread the leftover gauze over her cuts and wrapped the ACE bandage around her arm, then put the metal fastener in place. His gaze lingered on her hand for a moment before he lifted it to his lips and placed a soft kiss on her wrist.

The next thing Hermione knew he was grabbing his sweatshirt from the nearby chair and draping it around her shoulders. She moved her arms through the sleeves without thinking, letting the soft brown patchwork cloth envelop her in warmth as she zipped it up.

Almost on its own accord, her hand moved to rest on her arm where the cuts were now hidden from sight by both the bandages and Ron's sweatshirt. She met his eyes. "Thank you," she whispered.

His lips curled into a small smile. He stood and leaned over her, cupping her cheek before giving her a light kiss on the forehead. Heremione's eyes briefly drifted closed at the gesture.

"You should get some rest," he murmured, his hand still lingering on her cheek. With a brush of his thumb along her cheek bone he finally let go; she nodded and laid down until her head sank into the pillow. He remained next to the bed, suddenly intent on studying the floorboards. Hermione could see the hesitation in his eyes. "If you ever…" he began, then reorganized his thoughts. "If you need somebody to talk to…I'm here." He glanced at her then looked away again and headed back to his own bed.

"Ron." Her voice was small, hesitant, exhausted. She hadn't intended to say his name; it just slipped out. She didn't even know what she wanted him to do.

He must have seen the answer in her eyes because he was at her side in an instant, then sitting on her bed, then lying next to her. She shifted so her head was resting on his chest and her arm was draped across his abdomen, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world. Ron curled his arm around her shoulders and his fingertips traced a line along her scalp from her temple to her ear, over and over again.

"She wanted to know how we got the sword," Hermione began suddenly, and Ron's movements hitched for a moment before he resumed stroking her hair. "She asked me over and over. She thought we had gotten into her vault at Gringotts. I kept telling her we didn't take anything of hers, but she wouldn't believe me." Hermione swallowed thickly. "She pushed me to the floor, got on top of me, asked me one more time…and then she went at it with the knife. And then…" She paused, her arm tightening around Ron's waist. "Then she…" Her breath froze in her throat; she couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence.

"What did she do?" His voice was barely a whisper.

A single nine-letter word drifted through her lips. "Cruciatus," she breathed.

The answer hung in the air for the longest time, both of them listening to each other's inhales and exhales.

"When we were down in that cellar, we heard so much screaming," Ron said, his chest vibrating under Hermione's cheek as he spoke. "We weren't sure what she was doing to you, but…Dad's talked a lot about that curse, with everything he sees at work. Something in my gut knew that's what it was." He paused, and she sensed he was trying to work up the courage to say something. "Is it…is it everything they say it is?"

She didn't respond right away; she thought about lying on the floor, about writhing against the hard wooden boards as the curse spread like acid through every cell in her body, how the pain had been excruciating beyond words, beyond thought, beyond feeling.

Her answer came out in a whisper.

"Everything."

**I want to thank everyone who's left me a review so far, each of your messages were much appreciated :D Also, a huge thank you once again to MysteriousFlower for providing the name of the healing potion they use in the movie.**

**I plan to continue this story a bit longer. These chapters are about twice as long as I normally write, and I'm sorry it takes me so long to update-I just want everything to be right. As far as I know there will be Harry and Bellatrix in the future. And I'm sorry if I kind of ignore the main DH plot as I write-with this particular story I'm focusing more on the relationships and Hermione's mental state than anything else.**

**I'm going to stop babbling now. Review or message me with any comments/questions. Please do, because like I said, this is my first Harry Potter fic and I'm still kinda unsure about how I'm doing. What's the verdict?  
**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey, so, I suck.**

**I'm sorry I've made you guys wait so long for more. This chapter technically is only half finished but I decided I wanted to give you guys something anyways. But seriously, I've never been so swamped with schoolwork-I'm taking three writing intensive classes at once (not my decision, believe me) thus leaving me next to no free time.**

**So, with that said, I'm sorry if this half-chapter sucks or is in any way lesser in quality than the rest. Constructive criticism and/or suggestions for future chapters are greatly appreciated.  
**

As Ron began to wake up, he realized he was very hot. He kept his eyes closed as the sounds from the world around him began to come into focus, creeping into his ears as his brain became more alert. Then he realized something else—only one side of his body was hot.

His eyes finally blinked open and he looked around; murky sunlight was streaming through the window, illuminating Harry still asleep in his bed. He glanced at Hermione who was lying next to him, her head still on his chest, with her body curled up against his. He frowned. He knew he should be warm from their bodies being so close, but something wasn't right…she was _too_ warm.

Sitting up carefully, he peered down at her face. The dark circles under her eyes contrasted sharply against her pale skin, which was glistening with sweat.

Ron swallowed. "Hermione?" he whispered, gripping her shoulder and shaking it gently. She didn't stir. He reached for her right arm and tapped her hand a few times; nothing. Out of pure curiosity he pressed his fingers to the inside of her wrist, his heart skipping a beat when he found that her pulse was racing.

He climbed out of the bed and turned back to her, his palm immediately pressing against her forehead. She definitely had a temperature.

Ron nearly sprinted to Harry's bedside. "Harry!" he hissed. He shook his friend's shoulders as he waited for Harry to respond. "Harry, wake up!"

Finally a pair of bright green eyes opened and Harry began rubbing the sleep out of them. "Ron?" he mumbled, "What's going on?"

Ron barely let him finish his sentence. "Something's wrong with Hermione. She's sweating and she's got a fever and she won't wake up." He was breathless as he explained and his voice cracked multiple times.

A beat passed between them and suddenly Harry was on his feet as if a bolt of electricity had shot through him. They both approached Hermione's bed and eyed her carefully, neither of them quite sure what to do.

"Hermione," Harry called out. Nothing happened. He slowly knelt beside the bed and shook her shoulder like Ron had done, but her head simply lolled around as if she were a rag doll. He frowned and gently turned her over so she was lying on her back, her body remaining in limp compliance.

Suddenly Ron's breath caught in his throat. Her injured arm was now splayed across the mattress and he could see a faint blood stain on his sweatshirt sleeve, directly over where her scars were. "Her arm," he breathed.

Harry looked at the stain for a moment then turned to Ron. "Ron," he began, and his voice had a cautious edge to it, "Why is her arm bleeding?"

Ron's eyes went blank as he stared at Hermione; he had never seen her this sick, but he knew it wasn't just a simple fever. It was something much more. Finally, he met Harry's gaze. "Bellatrix," he answered simply, his voice cracking.

Harry swallowed and Ron could see his jaw muscles working. "What did she do to her?" he asked quietly. Ron said nothing. Harry held her hand with one of his and used the other to grasp the sweatshirt sleeve and gently pull it back.

Ron watched as Harry's posture slowly became stiff and his knuckles curled into fists.

Hermione's arm was as raw and bloody as ever; her skin had an almost pinkish tint to it now. The cuts themselves—and perhaps it was fear clouding Ron's eyes, or just a trick of the light—seemed deeper and wider than they had been last night when he cleaned them.

A sick, awful feeling began making its way through his body, starting in his stomach and spreading to his chest, his limbs, his hands and feet, his fingers and toes.

He studied the ugly red lines for just a moment longer, then threw the door open, stood at the top of the stairs, and screamed for his brother.

_There was nothing._

_There was no fear, there was no sadness, there was no pain._

_Except for that horrid burning._

_She could feel it, a slowly smoldering fire somewhere very close, so close, too close, but she couldn't see it. It was too dark. She wasn't even sure if her eyes were open. They probably weren't; if they were open, she surely would be able to find the source of the burning._

_As she contemplated the position of her eyelids, it suddenly occurred to her that she wasn't sure if she had a body at all. It was too dark to simply look around and make sure everything was there and in its rightful place, and she couldn't feel anything._

_Except for that horrid burning._

_She thought she heard someone call her name once or twice, though she couldn't be sure. The sound had come from so far away that she had almost missed it, and then she wondered if she had even heard it at all. She wondered about a lot of things: Harry and Ron; the horcruxes; the Snatchers; the Malfoys; Bellatrix Lestr—_

_A jolt of electricity hit her and she knew she was screaming, though she couldn't feel it in her throat that wasn't there or hear it with her ears that weren't there. It surged like lightening through her system, through every vein and nerve ending, until it consumed her completely and she could barely feel the burning anymore. Then suddenly it vanished as quickly as it had struck._

_That was when she decided she wasn't going to wonder about anything anymore._

_Except for that horrid burning._


	4. Chapter 4

Ron felt positively nauseous.

He had been sitting at Hermione's bedside for close to an hour now, so focused on her that he was almost entirely unaware of the people around him. He didn't notice Fleur's frequent visits to dab at Hermione's forehead with a cool washcloth; he didn't notice Harry pacing around the room or discussing the situation with Bill; and he didn't notice his brother poring over every book he could find on dark magic and the Unforgivable Curses.

Ron was staring so intently at Hermione's pallid face that he couldn't be sure he was even blinking. Her skin was glistening with sweat and fiery to the touch, as if there were a fever raging inside of her. Her breathing was still shallow and her pulse was still racing, but none of that worried him as much as her arm did.

Those eight marks, that despicable word…the root of it all. Blood hadn't stopped seeping from the cuts, and Ron knew he would have to change her bandages again soon; the ruby liquid was already starting to soak through again.

"Ron."

Harry's voice beside him yanked him from his thoughts. He studied his friend's blazing blue eyes, looking for some kind of sign that he had good news.

"Did you find anything?" he asked, tearing his gaze away from Hermione only after slipping his hand over hers.

"Not yet. There's not much information to find. Nobody knows for sure about the after-effects of the curse because its victims are too traumatized to talk about it, or have gone bonkers from it…or they're dead." Harry sighed and glanced at Hermione. "How's she doing?"

Ron swallowed and turned back to her. "Same as before." He leaned over and gently brushed his hand along Hermione's cheek.

_Come on, Hermione. I need you._

* * *

_It was happening all over again. How was this possible? Hermione whimpered as Bellatrix Lestrange stood over her, a foot planted beside each hip, smirking coldly as she pointed her wand directly between her eyes._

_Two of the fingers on her right hand were broken, she knew that much. Bellatrix hadn't appreciated her temporary refusal to scream and had stomped on her hand until Hermione cried out in pain._

"_How did you get into my vault?"_

_Hermione shook her head slowly. "I didn't…get into your vault," she said between ragged breaths._

_Bellatrix's smirk shrank into a nasty pout. "Don't test me, mudblood. Crucio!"_

_The wand, aimed specifically at Hermione's head, sent the curse screaming through her skull. Her hands flew up and covered her temples as if she were suddenly suffering from a massive headache. She shrieked, unable to control her vocal chords, grinding her teeth as tears streamed from her eyes. She tried to reassure herself that the curse was purely magical, that it was not affecting her physically, but the pain overpowered her attempted logic; surely her brain was dissolving in some sort of fiery acid._

_Bellatrix lifted the curse and watched as Hermione coughed and gasped for air and tried to stifle her sobs, but with little success. The witch rolled her eyes and gave her wand a quick flick, and Hermione felt a sharp burst of pain in her nose. Blood began trickling down her cheek._

"_Quiet!" Bellatrix spat, a foot stepping over Hermione and purposely landing on her injured fingers. She heard a faint crunch and bit her tongue so she wouldn't scream again; she managed to contain it to a whimper. "I'm sick of your sniveling nonsense." She crouched down and stuck her head right next to Hermione's ear. "Do I make myself clear?"_

_Hermione nodded, wincing as she did; her head was still pounding._

"_Now," Bellatrix continued, rising and wandering around the room. "How did you get that sword?"_

"_I didn't take it." She was surprised with how firm she sounded. The emotion was forgotten, however, when she was suddenly flipped onto her stomach by a hex. Her already aching nose smashed against the hard wood floor before she could turn her head and she let out a sharp groan. Her cheek laid against the cold boards, and the sensation was almost soothing._

"_This will only get worse, mudblood. Tell me where you got the sword!"_

_She moved her arms up so they were bent at the elbows on either side of her head and tried to push herself up, she couldn't budge. "I didn't take it!" she shouted. Then, beneath her sweater, she felt it._

_A point of white-hot burning began on her back, just below her left shoulder blade. She screamed as it slowly moved down in a straight line, and she wondered if it was cutting her skin as well, but the pain was too fierce for her to tell._

_For a moment, it stopped. _**I**.

_Her lungs heaved against the wooden planks beneath her. Bellatrix asked about the sword again and still Hermione's answer did not satisfy her. The burning returned, starting at the same point as the last time, and her cries ripped through her throat as it moved in a sideways arc. _**P**.

"_Tell me how you did it!" Bellatrix shrieked, and even after everything she had done to the girl, Hermione still flinched._

"_Please," she said, her voice weak and desperate, "I didn't do anything…"_

"_Liar!" the older witch shouted, and the burning was back once more. It began midway down her back this time and repeated the same motion as before, and a wave of horror reached every one of her nerve endings when Hermione realized what Bellatrix was doing._

_The fiery pain stopped. _

**B**.

* * *

A/N: Writing Bellatrix/Hermione torture is way too much fun.


	5. Chapter 5

_One seems to ask oneself all sorts of unimportant questions when one is under an incredible amount of distress. For instance, as Bellatrix circled around her like a vulture zeroing in on its prey, Hermione was wondering about her back. Had the hexes actually cut open her skin? Was she bleeding to death and didn't even know it? Would she need medical attention if she ever got out of here?_

_She wasn't even quite sure where "here" was. She had assumed with much certainty that she was lying on the cold, hard floor of the Malfoy Manor, but if that was the case, wouldn't she be able to see walls or a ceiling? But she saw nothing; the wooden planks on which she lay were illuminated by a light, the origin of which she could not find. All else was simply darkness._

_It was just her, Bellatrix Lestrange, and this godforsaken floor._

_As if the Death Eater was reading her mind, a hex suddenly flipped her over and she yelped when her back settled into the wood with her full body weight pressing down. The pressure stung horribly and she rolled onto her side without thinking; anything to make all of this hurt less._

"_Did I say you could move, mudblood?" Bellatrix growled. She approached Hermione, who was now trembling. "I see…you want to squirm a bit. Why didn't you just say so? Crucio!" she spat, this time sending the curse through the younger witch's entire body._

_Hermione screamed so loudly she was sure the lining of her throat would combust. The pain was so enveloping that she could no longer feel her back burning; instead she might as well have been burning alive entirely._

_When the curse lifted she waited for herself to return to hysterics, but none came. Instead she lay limp on her side, her breathing shallow, her eyes blank as tears slowly continued to leak from them. On the inside she felt like she should be shaking like mad, but perhaps at this point her body was too exhausted for such an extreme, albeit appropriate response to Bellatrix's antics._

_And then an idea struck her._

_The wheels began turning in her mind as she considered this idea. It was mad, _very_ mad, but she didn't see any other choice at this point. And even if it backfired and Bellatrix decided to kill her, then at least this would be over with._

"_Please," she gasped weakly, trying to make her voice sound as pitiful as possible. "Please stop."_

_Bellatrix cackled. "Manners won't get you out of this one." Another maniacal laugh burst from her throat. "Cruicio!"_

_With a jolt her body sprang into movement again, writhing and shaking and utterly loathing every second of this maddening agony. She focused every fiber of her being on remaining in control, on remembering what she had to do next, on not making this all for nothing._

_The curse vanished and Hermione deliberately rolled onto her back. Her skin burned under her sweater but she ignored the pain and allowed her arms to splay out on either side of her. Her eyes closed and she remained still._

_Bellatrix made a noise somewhere between a sigh and a grumble, probably annoyed that her mudblood plaything wasn't cooperating anymore. High-heeled footsteps clicked closer to inspect the damage and Hermione's heart raced in anticipation._

_She could smell the witch's odor, increasing intensity as she drew nearer. "Wake up, mudblood!" she shrieked suddenly and a curse that felt like a punch in the face jerked Hermione's head to the side. "Wake up!" she repeated, and by now she was crouching over her, their faces mere inches apart. She forced her body to remain still, unflinching._

_Bellatrix rose again and began circling Hermione. The younger witch silently begged her to come closer, close enough that she could do it, that it could work. For a while there was nothing; Bellatrix continued wandering in a loop around the girl, Hermione nearly going mad with anticipation, but finally the witch stopped._

"_Perhaps I'll have some fun while you're asleep," she said to herself—or maybe even to Hermione as well. Who really knew with Bellatrix Lestrange? She neared the girl until she was mere feet away, and Hermione heard a faint rustle of clothing as Bellatrix removed something from her robes. Her knife? Her wand?_

_She dearly hoped it was the latter._

"_But whatever shall I do?" the Death Eater wondered aloud, and Hermione would have rolled her eyes if she could. "I could see what the Cruciatus does to an unconscious mind…No, you wouldn't know the difference when you woke up." There was a sharp intake of breath as an idea struck her. "No…perhaps I'll give you another tattoo. We can't leave your wand arm untouched…"_

_Hermione felt the tip of Bellatrix's wand lightly graze her right arm._

Now.

_Her eyes snapped open and she snatched the wand away in a lightning-fast motion, like a snake lunging for its prey. She grasped the handle, broken fingers and all, as tightly as she could, and pointed it directly at the exact center of Bellatrix's forehead._

_The witch laughed but began backing away slowly. "What do you think you're doing, mudblood? You don't have the stones to do anything to me!"_

_Hermione shifted so she was propped up on her elbow but said nothing; she kept the wand pointed at Bellatrix._

"_Oh, are you going to torture me? Kill me? Get revenge? Come on, let's see it then." The Death Eater's wicked smirk taunted her._

_She took every bit of loathing she felt toward Bellarix, every ounce of venomous hatred, and gathered it all into her core, into a ball of explosive fire that made her tremble. She urged it down her arms, into her fingers, into the wand._

"_Stupefy!"_

_The spell sprang from the wand's tip and rocketed into Bellatrix, who flew backward as if she had been hit by a train. She hit the floor with a loud thud and then remained still._

_It was the most powerful stunning spell Hermione had ever performed._

_She lay back for a moment, once again exhausted. She slowly unclenched her fingers, wincing as the broken ones screamed with pain, and let the wand clatter to the floor. With as much grace as possible, she rolled onto her stomach and pushed herself up onto her knees, then onto her feet. She wobbled for a moment before she finally got herself standing straight._

_Hermione glanced at Bellatrix's still body for a moment, and then looked straight ahead. There was a set of thick, Gothic double doors in front of her. She took a few cautious steps to make sure her body was okay to move and then headed for the doors. As she neared them she could feel energy begin seeping back into her body, her nerve endings coming alive, her muscles getting stronger and the pain growing weaker._

_She grasped the ornate iron doorknob, twisted, and pulled._

* * *

**I was originally planning on continuing this chapter and making it a bit longer, but I couldn't resist the cliffhanger. Sorry. )**


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